A Second Chance at Life: A Christmas Story - An Example of My Work
It was somewhere cold up north, back in
the days of the early 80’s. Secure in
the back of my Dad’s old blue Ford Cortina, I remember the constant battle trying
to get the seatbelt to slope across my waist just the way I liked it. Snuggled into my green duffel coat, I would
tuck my hands into the sleeves, and use my breath to warm my bright red cheeks.
Safe in that self-made cocoon, glimpsing
out into the night felt like a luxurious novelty. Shutter speed images flashed by – a myriad of
colours replaced by black, another flash, followed again by black.
They were the ‘before’ times. At seven years old, I only thought about the
good in people and didn’t know the bad.
It would be wonderful to say that kid never got to know the bad, but
then I’d be lying. You see Simon, it
wasn’t until I met you that I really found myself again.
Beyond the rolling vehicles of weary
travellers, somewhere along the way I became a teenager.
The funny thing is that at Christmas, I
always tried to spot the houses beyond the trees. You know which ones I
mean. Not the ones edged close to the
road, no, not the ones that stood all high in glory; but the smaller lights
dotted on the black landscape. They were
the globules of life that fascinated, a pinpoint on a map of nothingness that
signalled that yes, someone was there.
You could imagine that with such an
abundant display of houses dotted about, there would be some lights that
harboured excited children, with kind, loving parents.
Except at that time, the only image
looking back at me was the one I tried not to see. I was tired by then of wiping away tears.
I used to count the Christmas trees, you
know. In fact, if I’m honest, I still
spot the trees. I am sure it’s a game
that everyone plays with their parents when they’re young, just one that my
parents never got round to. Driving alone,
I spot the colours, and pretend to coo as I pass by, admiring the imagination
and thought that has gone into… well, most, efforts.
Imagination is a strange thing, and in a
way, it is what led me to you. Christmas
had ended and that Coca-Cola advert turned into a dull reminder that another Christmas
was over. I got so frustrated driving
home after a New Year’s Eve party one night that I banged the steering wheel
and just shouted into the windscreen – when was I going to meet you? I was so
sure that you were out there for me.
Timing is everything, I guess, and the years passed. Still, you were so
worth the wait when I finally met you.
Do you remember that day? Of course you
do. I had taken off my glove in
Debenhams to touch one of the miniature lanterns hung on the gigantic Christmas
tree they keep inside at the front of the store. You were stood there, wrapped in all your
layers. I know you told me you came to the tree because you had to say hello,
but well, I still half-think it was because you wanted to stay out the cold! I
know you won’t like me saying that, sorry.
Months passed and I still wouldn’t tell
you why I had been so fascinated by those lanterns. You see, I used to believe there were fairies
living there, smelling fresh pine and wood, a mixture so heavenly, that as a
child I used to stare for hours, waiting for a fairy to appear.
That’s the thing with Christmas,
Simon. It’s such a magical time of year
when we get to believe in the things that just can’t be.
Which is why my heart crumbles every
time I remember this is my first Christmas without you.
One minute you were there, and then you
were gone. You will remember those times
I was forever telling you to think about how lucky we were, how we found each
other; how easy it was to make each other happy. It’s crazy to think that even
though we tried to look out for danger, we ended up becoming one of those
couples others are terrified of – couples where one is left behind.
But it’s not all doom and gloom,
Simon. You left me something very
special.
‘Mummy? Mummy… are you crying?’
‘…no… no, honey, just tired that’s all.’
‘Can you see him yet?’
‘See who?’
‘Santa! Mummy!’
‘Oh! Oh, yes, let’s have a look out of
the windscreen…’
‘Mummy! I can see him!’
‘Are there white lights?’
‘Yes Mummy! And a red one!’
‘Then that’s him! Keep watching honey,
he’ll be busy tonight.’
‘I will.’
‘Good girl.’
‘Mummy?’
‘Annabelle?’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
Simon, as much as I love Christmas, I
would trade it all to have another second with you. I know that as we look at the night sky, you’re
there watching over us now. And I hope
that when we get home and put on our lights, you’ll feel comforted knowing that
although we’re just a dot on the landscape, our home will always be blessed and
happy, because you made it that way. You
made us who we are today, and I know you’ll always be with us.
Merry Christmas, Simon.
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